


Angelic Stabbing Etiquette

by BlueMinuet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Blades, Canon Compliant, Destiel if you squint - Freeform, Friendship, Gen, Training, ish, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-23 17:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMinuet/pseuds/BlueMinuet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is pretty sure he knows how to use an angel blade. Castiel begs to differ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angelic Stabbing Etiquette

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a canon insert, probably taking place around Season 5 or so. 
> 
> Based loosely on [this](http://blueminuet.tumblr.com/post/80598937033/andythanfiction-call-it-a-destiel-thing-if-you) tumblr post.

Dean was cleaning his weapons when Cas first decided to bring up the issue. The hunt they’d just been on had been bloody; demons, angels, your normal end of the word fair. Dean had a greasy cloth spread out on top of the comforter of his lumpy motel bed, with all his pistols and knives laid out. Sam had stepped out, saying he’d grab takeout from the diner they’d seen on the edge of the town. 

Dean was currently wiping some dried blood off of an angel blade they’d picked up from some dead feathered bastard. Most of the blood flaked off fairly easily, and Dean found himself slightly impressed. If nothing else, angel blades were impressive in how well they resisted stains and tarnish. Under the blood, it still shined for all it was worth. 

A flutter of feathers alerted Dean that he was no longer alone. He was almost getting used to the regular intrusions. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean didn’t bother looking up, still working out a rather nasty bit of sticky blood near the hilt. “Hey, Cas. Dropping in to tell us we need to run for our lives?”

“No,” Cas said. “It seems that you lost the trail of those that were pursuing you. You should be safe for now.” 

“Awesome,” Dean muttered. He looked up, and saw Cas staring down at the spread of weapons. As usual, his face seemed scrunched in thought, as if he was cataloguing each item on the bed to analyze later. “Wanna stay for dinner? Sam’s grabbing food right now. I could call him and get him to pick up an extra burger.” 

Cas seemed to consider this slightly, or maybe he was just paying extra scrutiny to the ivory handled pistol half a foot away from Dean’s lap. “No, I don’t require sustenance.” 

Dean shrugged. “Figured I’d ask.”

Dean went back to buffing the angel blade, nearly having it restored to good as new. It took him a few moments to realize that Cas was staring at his hands, and the blade in it. 

“Anything else, Cas?” 

“There is one thing,” the angel said slowly, as if he was choosing each word with great care. “You are a very skilled warrior Dean, and I respect that. I wanted to speak to you about your skill with the angel blade.” 

Dean slapped on a cocky smirk. “Wanted to tell me I’m a natural?” 

“No, quite the opposite,” Castiel replied. 

Dean’s smirk quickly faded. “What?” 

“Of course, you handle it well for someone that is only beginning,” Castiel said, seeming to backtrack slightly. “However, I believe you could benefit from some training.”

“Training?” Dean said, spitting out the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Cas, I’m no amateur, alright? I’ve been swinging around pointy things all my life. I think I can handle an angel blade. And I think the freaks that were trying to gut us earlier would agree.” 

Cas frowned. “I didn’t intend to insult you. Obviously, you have a grasp on how to use blades in a practical sense. However, angel blades are different in how they should be handled.” 

“Oh, c’mon, Cas,” Dean groaned. “How complicated could it be? You shove the pointy end into the bad guys, and they die. The end.” 

Cas’s mouth opened, only to clamp shut moments after. Dean couldn’t quite read his face—Cas’s emotions were a tricky subject at the best of times—but he thought there was a hint of resentment there. He nearly asked the angel what he’d said when he heard the lock on the door click open. 

“I’ve got food,” Sam said, walking through the door with the crinkling sound of fast food bags. 

Dean looked back to where Cas had been standing, and was unsurprised to see he had vanished. 

Sam closed the door behind himself, giving Dean a questioning look. “Did I miss something?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah. Now bring me my burger. I’m starving.”

* * *

Dean sort of thought that was the end of the story. He figured his insistence that he knew how to stab things with the best of them would lead Cas to leave him alone about it. And largely, it had. 

However, it wasn’t the end of it. 

It was a few weeks later, and they’d holed up at Bobby’s while they tried to plan their next move. Dean was using the time to tune up Baby. 

Apparently, Cas had brought up something about the subject of stabbing etiquette to Sam, who was apparently more willing to go through angel basic training. Dean tried not to feel offended. After all, he’d basically taught Sam everything he knew about fighting. So what else did he need? 

He found himself, a bit reluctantly, watching them as Castiel instructed Sam on different moves. Dean found himself distracted by the way the blade spun fluidly in Cas’s hand, as if it was a part of him; as if performing complex tricks with it came easily as breathing. The two of them were far enough away from him that he could only hear murmurs when they spoke. He could hear their tones though. Sam seemed alert, interested, and once in a while seemed genuinely happy. And Cas was stern and blunt as ever, but there was something warmer in his voice that made Dean look over once in a while in fascination. 

Sam practiced the same move that Cas had shown him over and over, with occasional interruptions from Cas, correcting him. It looked terribly boring to Dean. 

Sam switched to another move, spinning the blade, but he missed catching it and it fell out of his hand, spinning to the ground and landing with a dull tink. Sam startled a bit, but when it landed he just huffed out a laugh. And then, unexpectedly, Cas did too. It was only for a moment, but it was there; a short, curt laugh. 

It wasn’t as if Dean hadn’t heard the angel laugh before, but it made him pause. Cas’s laughs were few and far between. Sometimes, the angel’s sense of humor seemed completely out of whack. (It had to be, if Uriel was the funniest angel he knew.) 

But this was different. He wasn’t laughing because it was funny. Dean realized, slowly, that the angel was actually having fun. 

Sam seemed to be too. He grinned and picked up the blade, and just tried the move again. 

Dean shook his head. There was an apocalypse barreling down at them, and his brother and an angel were having fun screwing around with angelic cutlery in a junk yard. 

It took a few more minutes of Sam screwing up before Dean decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He popped open the trunk of the Impala and pulled out the angel blade he’d recently picked up. He walked over to Sam and Cas with purpose, standing next to Sam. 

“God damn it, Sammy, you keep doing it wrong,” Dean said. “It’s like this.” 

Dean mimicked the move he’d been watching Sam do. Maybe it wasn’t exactly right, but he managed not to drop the blade at least. 

Sam grunted. “Show off.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? This is easy. Give me a harder one, Cas.” 

Dean didn’t miss the subtle smile the angel gave before spinning his own blade in his hands. “If you insist, Dean.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Dean to find himself idly repeating the motions Cas had taught him. He kept the angel blade in his duffel bag most of the time, just in case, and sometimes when he was alone and had nothing more interesting to do than read through ancient tomes about monsters he had to figure out how to kill, he found himself idly spinning the blade, his muscle memory remembering each step in the sequence and replaying it. 

It was one of those days where he found himself poring over musty books to figure out what they were supposed to be killing—how many types of wraith could there possibly be?—when he heard the familiar flutter of feathers.

“Hello, Dean.” 

He looked up at the angel and smirked. “Hey, Cas. What’s up?”

Cas made an awkward sort of shrugging gesture. “I was just checking in.” He looked at the blade twirling in Dean’s hands and a small smile pulled at his lips. “You’re practicing.” 

Dean stopped, the blade coming to a halt in his hand, pointing at the ceiling. He suddenly felt self-conscious. “No…” There wasn’t much force behind the denial. 

Castiel sat at the chair next to Dean at the table. He held out his hand for the blade. “May I?” 

Dean spun it in his hand, turning the handle towards Cas for him to grab it. Cas took it slowly. 

“They truly are an extension of our Grace, you know,” Castiel said, turning the blade over in his hands, considering. “This one belonged to Ramiel.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “You can tell just by looking?” 

“In a sense,” Castiel explained. “It’s a bit more complicated. To feel the residual Grace, and identify its owner.”

“Did you know him?” Dean asked. 

Cas shook his head. “An acquaintance, perhaps. But he was not a member of my garrison. We didn’t interact often.” He placed the blade on the table, next to a stack of books Dean hadn’t touched yet. 

Dean thought, maybe, the gesture seemed a bit reverent. The care he put into handling the blade. “Is that why you got pissed about me using it like any old knife?” Dean asked, feeling an inkling of understanding. “Because it’s like… part of an angel?” 

Castiel considered this for a moment. “In a way, I suppose you could put it like that. Angels treat our blades with respect. They are a literal part of us. When we use them, it is with respect and precision. We take pride in how they are used.”

“So, I was just being a huge douche treating them like glorified toothpicks?” 

Castiel attempted to shrug again. “It was a bit rude.” 

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Well, I guess I’ll work on that.” 

Cas nodded. “You are getting much better. With some more training, your skills could nearly pass for that of an angel.” 

Dean smirked. “Would you let me fight in your garrison?” 

Castiel paused. “That would be rather hard, considering I’m no longer a part of it.” 

Dean laughed. “Tell you what. You can keep training me if I can teach you a few tricks too.”

“Tricks?” Cas asked. “Dean, I’ve lived for quite some time, and—”

“Yeah, well join the club,” Dean said. “I said the same thing, remember? I’ve been a hunter all my life, you’ve been a mean, green, fighting machine all your life—”

“I am not green.” 

“So, how about you teach me to fight like an angel and I’ll teach you to fight like a human,” Dean said. “Deal?”

Castiel’s gaze fell to the table, considering, before looking up at Dean again and nodding. “Alright, Dean. I’ll… try.” 

“Awesome.” Dean snapped the book in front of him shut. “Lesson one, screw books. Let’s go to the bar and see if we can find a good old fashioned bar fight to get into.”

Castiel stood up when Dean did, looking thoroughly confused, but if he had any questions he was smart enough not to ask them.


End file.
